


he had been so lucky

by siaaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Character Death, Check end notes for warnings, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Loss, Love, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Short One Shot, So Much Grief, Survivor Guilt, be careful, but hogwarts is home, but i like it, hogwarts is now a college, i don't know what time period this is, it's a mess, it’s a little sad, maybe late 2010s?, maybe more than slightly, slightly OOC, them without magic is so strange to me, yes i know that weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siaaa/pseuds/siaaa
Summary: harry's life had been perfect. until the crash. until the love of his life was snatched away from him in an unforgiving moment. he lives in a fog, drowning in his grief.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 22





	he had been so lucky

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so this is a heavy one, make sure you check end notes for warnings if need be. 
> 
> leave a comment or kudos <3
> 
> beta'd by the wonderful & kind [graymatters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theartfulldodger/pseuds/Theartfulldodger) and the lovely [queenangelyls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenangelyls/profile)

Harry's exhausted. The day has been long and tiring and the hour is late. The sun set not too long ago, and the night sky is now clogged with the smog of the city. Harry steps out of the metro staircase and makes his way home. To the small apartment six floors up, with its big windows, and tiny bathroom; with the dead plants in the corner and the empty plates under the couch; with the always running radio and the growing pile of clothes in the corner. His home. Harry unlocks the building with the first key and begins his trek up the staircase, since the elevator is always broken. His sweaty button-down clings to his back and his dress pants to his thighs. His suit jacket hangs over one shoulder, parallel to his work bag. He’d gone to work early, and is coming home late, the day filled with strenuous meetings and hours of reports and filing. He flicks to the second key on the ring and unlocks the door to his apartment, preparing for the view on the other side.

Harry loves his boyfriend, he does. He loves him with every fiber of his being, but some days are harder than others. He's tired. Too tired to listen to Draco chat about his day, to listen to him ask questions about Harry's day, to hear the politics of the city and the problems they may face in the upcoming year. 

But Harry pushes past the cloudy exhaustion at the front of his mind and pushes open the crusty apartment door. The strumming of guitar and loud bass meets his ears, the Arctic Monkey’s “Arabella” playing in the background of his apartment. He sees his boyfriend perched on the kitchen island and behind him, a completely clean kitchen. Some days Draco has bursts of energy and goes around cleaning and organizing the apartment (those days are the best for Harry's mental state). A steaming bowl of pasta sits on the counter beside Draco, obviously waiting for Harry. His boyfriend rapidly types on his phone, head bobbing to the rock music all around him. Draco swings his legs to the beat, the swishy fabric of the plaid pajamas he wears following. Draco reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, and Harry sees Draco’s standard chipped nail polish. Draco paints his nails every week, but they seem to chip a few hours in, leaving him with perpetually old looking nails. This time, they’re a dark orange, contrasting with his pale skin tone. Draco looks up as Harry enters the apartment, a smile gracing his aristocratic features. 

Harry smiles back and it reaches his eyes; tiredness or not, Draco’s smiles are the highlights of his day and he would do anything to keep them on his face. Draco hops off the island counter and makes his way towards Harry, and when Draco reaches Harry’s slumping and tired figure, he simply runs his knuckles across Harry’s cheekbone. Draco takes the bag off Harry’s shoulder and the suit jacket off the other, used to the late nights and what Harry needs. Draco whispers to him, “There’s pasta on the table, take a shower after. If you’re still up, I want to hear about your day.”

Draco leaves Harry in the entrance to the apartment, taking Harry’s things with him to their singular bedroom. 

Harry watches Draco’s retreating figure, wondering how he ever got so lucky. 

And then Harry blinks and he’s back in his crappy apartment, standing in the entrance to the room, work bag still hung on his shoulder, and kitchen counter dirty. There’s no music and it seems as if the apartment hasn’t been cleaned in months. He had been lucky. He’d been so lucky. And then he was unlucky, and it was all gone in a minute. A quiet, meek voice on the phone telling him of Draco’s passing, of his agonizing death, of the love of Harry’s life leaving his side too early. And he can’t help but remember the days he’d come and find someone waiting for him, someone who cared enough to ask about his day. Now he comes home to an empty apartment, peeling wallpaper, and the smell of days old pizza from inside the fridge

*** * ***

Harry wakes to the feeling of sunlight on his face. The bright light settles upon his eyes, burning into him. He breathes in the smell of the room, familiar. He curls to the side and pats his hand towards the other side of the bed, attempting to find his lover. Empty sheets and pillows is all he finds. Harry is confused at first. Where has Draco gone? And then it comes back to him in a rush. Harry opens his eyes and sits up quickly, whiplash on his neck, and knees cracking with the speed. Tears gather in his eyes for what feels like the thousandth time and he digs the bottoms of his palms in, as if that would stop the outpouring of grief from his eyes. 

Harry wakes up every morning this way. Every morning since Draco died, he forgets for the first few sleepy seconds before his brain begins to function, reaching for the man with whom he’d believed he’d spend the rest of his life with. 

Harry’s been unable to wash Draco’s pillow. He leaves it as it is, not touching it (Draco hated when he’d touched it), leaving it waiting for him to return. The pillow is dusty with unuse, but no matter, it won’t be moved for a while: Draco will always need a place to sleep. 

Harry swings his legs over the side of the bed, feet planting on the floor. Getting up from bed seems to get harder every day, as if the loss of his other half sets in deeper as time passes. As if the missing limb of his body is aching in phantom pain, and the pain is chronic.

He tumbles into the adjoining bathroom, the tiny room a compromise for the big windows in the sitting room. Washing his hands in the small sink, he glances up at the mirror above, but doesn’t register anything. The gaunt look under his cheekbones, the constant redness in his eyes, the gathering wrinkles on his forehead, and the growing beard around his chin all seem to recede behind the fog that surrounds him. Harry moves in an automatic motion, every action programmed into his memory by routine. His brain is elsewhere as his body moves. Harry reaches for the body wash in the shower and knocks over Draco’s shampoo. Draco’s. His lavender honey shampoo, almost empty, but not. It’s been weeks. Weeks of it sitting there, untouched, but Harry doesn’t have the heart to discard it. To discard Draco’s things. They’re Draco’s, how could he? Harry faces the same dilemma with Draco’s clothing. They sit, hanging in their shared closet, a constant reminder of the loss he’s faced. Some days he buries his face into Draco’s clothes, hoping for a familiar smell (he never gets one). 

Breakfast is easy without Draco. They almost never ate the first meal of the day together. Draco would leave the house earlier than Harry, grabbing a cup of coffee from the cafe around the corner, and Harry would eat a bowl of oatmeal and leave half an hour later.

Lunch is harder. Most days they’d pack their own lunches. But, on the days they’d go out and buy lunch, they’d text each other pictures of the delectable food items, hoping for an amusing fit of jealousy from the other. Now, Harry refuses to order food. He eats a simple and bland lunch, rarely leaving the four walls to talk to his colleagues. 

Dinner is the most difficult. Mondays and Wednesdays, Harry was in charge of coming home earlier and making dinner; Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays were usually Draco’s responsibility. They’d come home and make dinner or maybe buy it from a cheap restaurant on their street; each night treated like a date. Draco would laugh at his eccentric meals, recipes found from the depths of the internet. And Harry would fall a little bit more in love with Draco as he cooked (and baked!) foods that reminded Harry of home (of Hogwarts). 

He finds himself staring at the empty seat in front of him, hands trembling on the empty table— the day’s troubles usually leave him with little appetite and little energy to eat at all. 

He’s dissolving. He doesn’t realize it, but everyone else does. There is nothing they can do. Draco was his life line, his life force, his sun. Without Draco, it’s all Harry could do to wilt in his absence.

*** * ***

It's easy to forget. He’d blink and the memory was gone, another laugh and smile forgotten. The little wrinkles outside Draco’s eyes, the white scars scattered on Draco’s chest, forming patterns Harry loved to trace with his tongue. But some days, Harry blinks and he can almost hear Draco, can almost feel Draco’s skin under his fingers, can almost see Draco’s scars on his chest. Those days are the worst. Harry comes back and he expects to see Draco beside him, his head thrown back, soaking in the sun, but Draco is never there. 

Harry’s biggest fears? Losing even more memories.

_flashback_

“Hey! Hold the doors!” Harry watches Ron leap forward and shove the college shuttle door open so the tall boy yelling on the other side has time to jump on. It works. The other boy hops on board, his feet landing solidly on the grimy floor, until the bus lurches and he goes flying forward as well. This time Harry comes to the blond’s rescue, grabbing his arm and jerking him backwards, the two of them falling into another seat. The blond boy lands on Harry’s lap and scrambles forward, anxious to get out of the position. In Harry’s haste to get the boy off, Harry shoves him and he goes tumbling forward once again, this time without someone to catch him. The tall boy ends up on the floor, finally, and he looks up at Harry and Ron. The three of them burst out laughing. Harry’s still a little red from having this strange boy in his lap and the boy’s blonde hair is everywhere, after being thrown around the shuttle. The driver hasn’t even flinched. That brings another round of laughter. Harry lends the boy a hand in standing back up, and he quickly sits beside Harry, a smile on his pretty face.

_flashback 2_

Christmas is Draco’s favorite time of the year. He’ll walk through suburban neighborhoods to see the lights twinkle, and starts listening to Christmas music when the calendar hits October. Christmas has always represented the best of Draco’s family, and he harbors a warm feeling for the holiday in his chest. Harry understands Draco’s love for the season, for the day, and he lets Draco plan a day (or season) of joy. 

“Ok! I’m mixing the gingerbread cookies and they’ll be done in an hour, there’s eggnog in the fridge—”

Harry gags, and Draco shoots him a dirty look. 

“Yes, I get it! My eggnog isn’t the best, but that’s why we bought extra from the store. Shush.” Harry laughs at Draco, and a warm feeling passes through Draco as Harry smiles.

“I love you, you know that right?” Harry stares at him earnestly and Draco melts a little. 

“I know,” Draco smiles, “I love you just as much.” 

And then Harry has an idea. Draco’s mixing batter for the cookies and Harry grabs the wooden spoon from him. It drips batter on the floor and Draco sputters at Harry. 

“There’s...” Draco trails off as Harry walks to the speaker and turns it on. Mariah Carey blares out of it, as the singer croons about her love. Draco breaks in an ear-splitting grin and Harry reaches his hand out for Draco, singing into the dripping spoon like it’s a mic. 

Draco grabs his hand and snatches the spoon from Harry, throwing it into the sink. Draco puts both of Harry’s hands in his own, and they begin to dance. The music envelops them, and there is almost as much laughter as there is music. Harry dips Draco back and spins him around, and Draco does the same to Harry, almost dropping him as Draco dips him down, his hands splayed out on Harry’s back. 

Draco’s eyes glitter as he dances with his amazing partner. They both smell like gingerbread batter, the dried batter on their clothes. The apartment smells like Christmas, the large green tree shines in the corner of the house room and stockings hang beside it. Draco tells Harry later that he wished he could’ve take a photo of his life at that moment. That he'd never been so lucky.

_flashback 3_

It’s another tiring day when Harry enters his apartment. He feels like his brain has turned into mush and leaked out of his ears. He walks through the door and sees his boyfriend dancing to music. This time to some pop song playing on the radio, Draco’s hips swaying as he chops vegetables. Draco hears the door slam behind him and spins around, knife outstretched. Seeing Harry, Draco drops the knife and goes in for a hug. Draco looks up at him. He smells of fresh laundry and lemons, and Harry smells of grime and sweat. Draco says “I’m making my mom’s Coq au Vin.” Harry smiles down at Draco. Draco’s mom would only cook one dish, and this was it. Harry doesn’t even know if Narcissa knew how to cook, but her Coq au Vin (with a bottle of red burgundy wine) was always phenomenal.

“All right. Let me grab a shower, and I'll come help?”

“Do the first part,” Draco replies, “but I don’t need you messing up my food!” He laughs a little at that and turns back to the kitchen. Harry doesn’t watch after Draco, instead walking to the shower. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, the apartment smells of food, and he glances at the bedroom door, making sure it’s shut so the smell doesn’t get into their clothes. 

There are two steaming bowls on the dinner table, and the music has been turned down. Harry Styles plays softly in the background. Draco’s sitting at the table already, bobbing his head to music and typing on his phone. He doesn’t glance up when Harry gets to the table and continues to rapidly type out some message. There’s no need for any theatrics, they’ve been together long enough for Harry to dig into the food as Draco types. 

When Draco finishes on his phone, he begins to eat, smiling around his spoon: the food tastes just like his mom’s. Harry comments on this.

“Baby, this tastes exactly like your mom’s. I feel like I’m back in your house.”

And there are tears in Draco’s eyes and he covers his mouth with his hand. 

“I never should’ve made Coq au Vin. It’s almost like I can hear her admonishing me for making it just a little too spicy.” Draco cries. “Oh— I miss her so much.” 

And there’s more tears. Draco bawls silent sobs, and Harry is at his side in a flash. Harry's arms envelop him, and Draco's crying uncontrollable sobs into Harry's chest. The last time they’d seen Narcissa, she’d made Coq au Vin. That was three years ago. Narcissa had died suddenly, a heart attack in the bathroom late at night, no goodbyes. It had been hard for Draco for a long time, and he’d only bounced back a little over a year and a half ago. 

Harry rubs Draco’s back as he cries, whispers soothing words to Draco, letting him get all the tears out. They aren’t criers, but when they do, their other half is always there to support them through it all. Draco gasps a little in an attempt to control himself, and he sits up, his grey eyes red-rimmed.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Draco sniffles and rubs his nose. 

Harry kisses Draco on the forehead, “Nothing to apologize for, my love. Let’s visit your friends this weekend?” 

Draco looks up at Harry with watery eyes, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Harry smiles at Draco and sits back down, “Let’s eat? We’ll call Pansy and Blaise as soon as we’re done.” 

_flashback ends —_

No. No. No. He’d been thinking for too long, no no no. The heels of his hands dig into his eyes, as he attempts to stop the tears. It works.Harry sucks in trembling gasps and manages to control himself. He’s sweating in his t-shirt, and he has a feeling the other people in the park are staring at him. He lurches upwards, unbalanced. Deep breaths, he reminds himself, deep breaths. And he manages to control his breathing. His eyes open and he wipes his sweaty palms on his joggers. Exercise is hard these days. He gets through a mile and his head gets foggy and he’s unable to think of anything but Draco. Recently, his mind betrayed him and began attempting to conjure scenes of how Draco died. He knew it wasn’t on impact, that Draco had scrambled for life in the last precious moments, but it hadn’t been enough. The police were kind enough not to give him any of the car crash’s explicit details, but now he was attempting to fill the empty spots in. His worst nightmares were of Draco, and Harry would wake up panting, Draco’s bloody body seared into the back of his eyelids.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> draco dies in a sudden car crash, narcissa dies in a heart attack late at night, heavy grief & grief over losing a loved one, lack of appetite.
> 
> a playlist i listen to while writing: [five stages of grief](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2chs6afzOgEeVZSwBGsaVo?si=VJLqvrROSuKF4GJ1FqzLMQ)


End file.
